


The Bitch of Living As Someone You Can't Stand

by MademoiselleAbaisse



Category: Les Miserables, Les Miserables/Spring Awakening Crossover, Spring Awakening
Genre: But for now it's just French schoolboys being horny, F/M, M/M, Rating will also change later, Spring Awakening AU, There will be sex and death later, just so you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MademoiselleAbaisse/pseuds/MademoiselleAbaisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring Awakening AU</p><p>These are two of my favorite shows, so I NEEDED to combine them. Here are my initial headcanons (I'm basically mixing around the events of Spring Awakening to different characters in Les Mis. So there is no direct relation between characters. Enjolras is not supposed to be Melchior, Marius is not supposed to be Moritz, etc. They do not coincide to specific characters.)-</p><p>-Marius and Cosette have sex. Cosette gets pregnant and dies.<br/>-Enjolras gets kicked out of school for his revolutionary ideals.<br/>-Eponine escapes her abusive father to live in a Bohemian commune, where she meets an artist named Grantaire.<br/>-Courfeyrac and Jehan are two naive schoolboys who have sex and Jehan falls in love. Courfeyrac breaks his heart.<br/>-Grantaire used to go to school with the rest of Les Amis, but his father disowned him when Grantaire thought he might be gay. Then through Éponine, he meets Enjolras. Boom. And suddenly, angsty E/R.<br/>-Madame Thenardier denies Grantaire the funds he needs to escape his hell of a life and move to America, so he kills himself.<br/>-Valjean and Javert are the teacher and the headmaster of the school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All That's Known

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. I want to write this verse until my thumbs fall off. Please leave comments to let me know what you like, what you don't, or any headcanons you might have!
> 
> Also, if anyone who knows Latin would like to point out any mistakes for me? I literally just copied this from the lyrics of the show.

“Litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto  
Vi superum, saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram  
Multa quoque et bello pa*sus, dum conderet urbem  
Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris  
Italiam fato profugus Laviniaque venit…”

“No, no, no…” Monsieur Javert shook his head. “Monsieur Pontmercy. Again, please. And stand up, for God’s sake. Your classmates can barely hear you.” His lip curled unpleasantly around the words, his fingers tightening around the switch in his hands.

Marius blushed a deep shade of red “Litora….multum ulle…?”

“Monsier Pontmercy!”

“Multum….ille?”

“Do you have any idea what you’re _saying_ , Monsieur Pontmercy?”

 

“Monsieur, please!” Enjolras had risen from his seat, a burning sensation of anger building in his chest. Monsieur Javert turned his scrutinizing gaze to him.

“Yes, Monsieur Enjolras?” he asked, with a venomous interest that should have, by all rights, sent a chill of terror down his spine.

“Excuse me, Monsieur Javert,” Enjolras began, in a mockery of propriety. “Could we at least consider multum ulle as plausible conjecture for-“

“Monsieur Enjolras,” Javert began, his tone edging on dangerous. “We are hardly here today to conjecture _about_ textual conjecture.” Marius glanced over at Enjolras with wide eyes, as if to ask, ‘What are you doing?!’

“The boy has made an error.” Javert said with a sneer, stalking between the desks.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Enjolras began, hardly trying to hide the sarcasm in his tone, “But it is an understandable error nonetheless.”

Javert froze, the rod in his hand threatening to snap with the pressure he was exerting upon it. “Do you MOCK me, Monsieur Enjolras?”

“No, _sir_ ,” Enjolras said again, staring straight forward. 

“I will not have lies told in my classroom,” Javert hissed. “I am the school. And the school is NOT MOCKED, Monsieur Enjolras.”

“With all due respect sir,” Enjolras pressed onward, the blaze in his chest refusing to be extinguished. “Are you then suggesting that there is no room for critical thought, or interpretation?” Marius gaped at him dumbly, his mouth hanging open, as though it were difficult for him to process the scene playing out before him. “Why, if even-“

But the fair-haired student was hardly able to formulate a response before the sound of a firm, resounding ‘thwack’ rang out throughout the classroom, and the entire room went silent, Enjolras included. He let out a breath of air as the force of Javert’s switch collided with his chest. 

“How dare you _suggest_ such a thing,” Javert growled. “Monsieur Pontmercy has made an error, and in defending him, so have you, Monsieur Enjolras. Do I make myself clear?”

Enjolras glared at him defiantly from beneath the fringe of his unruly hair. His defiance was met with yet another strike of the rod, this time striking hard across his stomach, sufficiently knocking all the air out of him. “I asked you a question. Do I make myself clear?”

Enjolras fixed his gaze on the ground. “Oui, Monsieur Javert,” he spat. “Litora multum _ille_.”

Seemingly appeased, Javert nodded, continuing his path around the room, weaving through desks. “Everyone, with Enjolras.” 

Enjolras met Marius’s gaze and shot him a nearly imperceptible smile as the class chorused into the verse. 

 

\--

 

“Thank you,” Marius mumbled as they packed their things away.

Enjolras smirked. “Don’t mention it.”

“But I should have known it,” Marius despaired, running fingers through his unkempt hair. “It’s just…I couldn’t sleep. All night. In fact, I frequently find myself plagued by the most horrific, beautiful phantasm…” he shuddered, clenching his eyes shut.

“You mean…a dream?” Enjolras asked, unsure whether to be amused or confused.

“A nightmare,” Marius insisted. “There’s this…this girl. I caught sight of her at church last week, and I haven’t been able to banish her from my mind, even in slumber. Enjolras, I’m having the most impure visions of her.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Oh. That kind of dream.” He had only heard of them, of course. He’d never had one of his own. The female form had never plagued him in his sleep, and he had always been too preoccupied with his studies to ever wonder why. He supposed it would happen eventually, and he dreaded the day when it did, for surely it would draw his mind away from much worthier causes.

“Have you ever suffered such mortifying visions?!” Marius hissed, frantic.

“Of course,” Enjolras lied with a shrug. “We all have. Bahorel dreamt about his mother. Bossuet dreamed that he was seduced by his piano teacher.”

“Really?!” Marius cried in shock. “ _Madame Musichetta_?!”

Little did Marius know, the thoughts his classmates were harboring at that very moment. 

Bossuet was, indeed, fantasizing about Madame Musichetta. So was Joly, as a matter of fact, for she tutored him in piano as well. The aspiring medic bit his lip as he thought of the way Madame Musichetta’s blouse stretched across her breasts, the way they looked as if they were just BEGGING to be set free. Bossuet, on the other hand, dreamed of taking her right there, over the piano, during the middle of a lesson.

Jehan hugged his elbows close to his body as his mind drifted into tomorrow, the terror of his peers having to see him naked once again after their physical education lessons.

Courfeyrac didn’t even pretend to care if he left any of his belongings behind, as he leisurely eyed Jehan’s backside. He certainly looked wonderful in those khakis, he thought to himself with a smirk. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could turn the little poet’s affections upon himself.

But Enjolras’s mind was not swimming with such thoughts. Instead, he was wondering why he was forced to live in a world in which his peers were more interested in sexual intercourse than the fate of their country, their studies, or the meaning of life. He sighed, rolling his eyes as Marius undoubtedly began to daydream about this blonde siren Enjolras had heard him describe so many times. Sometimes Enjolras wondered if maybe something was wrong with HIM, and not everyone else. It was the kind of question he might pose to a god, if he believed in one. But he wasn’t sure that he did. It was so easy for Enjolras to take a stance in politics, in philosophy. But when it came to who he was, he was at a loss, and some days, he desperately wanted to be found. Others, he was content to float through life on what he had, as opposed to what he didn’t.


	2. In My Life/Mama Who Bore Me/Papa Who Raised Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette is no longer a child, and she longs for the truth that Valjean knows. Her "Aunt" Fantine has just been visited by "the stork", and she begs her father to explain to her the miracle of conception. Valjean is hesitant, to say the least. And he maaaaaay have fudged the truth. Just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually laughed my ass off while writing this chapter.

Cosette beamed as she looked in the mirror, twirling in the new dress she loved so much. It was white and flowy, stopping somewhere above her knees, and it flared out in a way that made Cosette feel like she was a child again. She heard footsteps coming down the corridor as she preened in the mirror, letting the skirt of her dress flounce. “Cosette? My child, what are you doing?” came her father’s voice from the doorway, and sure enough, there he was, standing there uncomfortably with the day’s wash in his hands. “Cosette,” he began carefully. “I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to parade yourself around in such a dress in _public_.”

Cosette bit her lip and turned to pout at him. “But Papa, it’s so darling, and it makes me feel like a little fairy queen!” she beamed, twirling in the dress.

“But…my child,” Valjean tried again. “You are…already…In bloom.” He finished uncomfortably, hoping maybe this time, she would catch his drift.

She never did. He sighed, putting down the laundry, and sitting on the edge of her bed, motioning for her to sit on his knee. If he couldn’t talk her out of wearing the ridiculously inappropriate dress, perhaps he could change the subject. “I have good news for you, my child. Last night, a stork came and visited your Aunt Fantine! He brought her another little girl,” he beamed, for this was happy news indeed.   
(Cosette had grown up hardly knowing her “Aunt” Fantine, and that was hardly a coincidence. For she was Cosette’s rightful mother, but the both of them had been abandoned by her rightful father before Cosette was born. Fantine had nowhere left to turn but to Valjean, and the two had decided it would be easier for Cosette if she never knew the truth. It had taken her “Aunt” Fantine quite awhile to get back on her feet, but she seemed reasonably happy now. And she was still allowed to see Cosette on holidays, and she was beginning a family of her own.)

Instead of being excited, as he hoped she would be, Cosette frowned. “Papa,” she began, looking up at him with eyes that would make even a puppy take pity. “Dear Papa…I am an aunt for the second time now, and I still have no idea how it happens,” she bit her lip. “I’m ashamed to even ask, Papa, but who can I ask but you?”

Valjean’s lips had drawn into a fine line, and he slid Cosette off his knee and stood rather abruptly. This was a conversation he had been dreading since the night Cosette had come to him with blood on her undergarments. He hadn’t known how to explain that, either, and he had simply told her it was a monthly curse that God placed upon women for Eve’s sins in the Garden of Eden. He knew he could only avoid it for so long, but he didn’t want to accept the knowledge that his only daughter, the light of his life, was growing up. It seemed as though giving her this talk would take away the little child he so loved. “What have I done to deserve this?” he groaned skyward, though it was directed more at God, than at Cosette. 

She frowned, her petulance coming through as she crossed her arms. “Papa, you cannot expect me to still believe in the stork! I am sixteen years old, and if you don’t tell me, I will go out and find Gavroche Thenardier, and ask HIM. Ten years old, and he knows more than I do about the ways of the world, Papa! That hardly seems _fair_.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you everything!” Valjean amended quickly, the gears hurriedlyturning in his head. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t _have_ to tell Cosette the whole truth…she just had to _believe_ it was the whole truth. The whole truth would be given to her by god in her time, in her turn. “But not today. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Or-“

“No, Papa. _Today_! I’m no longer a child, and I long for the truth that you know. Please tell me. Please. I’ll….I’ll shut my eyes! I’ll look away. Anything. Please.”

He sighed deeply, an icy grip clenching his stomach. “Very well. I’ll tell you,” he surrendered, trying to think of what to say to the girl. He glanced at the pile of laundry, and pulled a blanket over Cosette’s head, as if to blindfold her. “In order for….erm. In order for a woman to conceive a child……”

“Yes, Papa?” came Cosette’s eager voice from somewhere within the folds of fabric. Valjean took a steadying breath and continued. “In order for a woman to conceive a child, she must…” he frowned, at a loss for words. How could he phrase this to his darling daughter in a way that would not compromise her virgin ears?! “In a very…personal way, she must…Love her husband. Uhh….as she can love only him.” He paused, looking over at her. “ONLY HIM,” he restated firmly. “She must…she must love with her whole…..HEART. There. That’s it. Now you know everything!”

Cosette pulled the blanket away from her face, beaming. “Oh, Papa. Thank you!” She embraced him, before sailing over to her armoire, presumably to change her dress. Valjean breathed a massive sigh of relief before picking up the day’s wash, and quickly departing the room.


	3. The Color of Desire/The Word of Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras attempts to explain the facts of life to Marius.
> 
> Marius and Cosette finally meet in the woods.

Another day’s lesson had passed, not without hardship for Marius Pontmercy. As he and Enjolras hurried to pack away their things, he was practically beside himself. “Sixty lines of Virgil? All those quadratic equations?! I’m going to be up all night, and I’m never going to get any of it done! And what if I’m plagued by another one of those dreams? I don’t know what any of it means!”

Enjolras sighed, and sat beside him. “I could explain, if you like. I’ve read it out of books. But I have to warn you…it made an atheist out of me.”

“No! No, I cannot stand to hear such things!” Marius cried, before thinking better of himself. “Though…perhaps…if you could write it down? And leave it in my satchel after gymnastics tomorrow? And….maybe if you could…add some illustrations in the margins?”

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile, and he nodded.

 

The next night, Enjolras found himself alone in his bedroom with a pen in hand, speculating once again on the nuances of human nature. “What is shame?” he scribbled into his journal. “In my mind, shame is nothing but a product of education, and-“ his train of thought was interrupted by Marius crashing into his room. “Enjolras!” he was crying. “That essay you gave me! I was up until three in the morning, reading the damned thing until I couldn’t SEE straight!”

“Sit,” Enjolras sighed. 

“You don’t understand!” Marius was wailing. “Last night, I prayed to Jesus Christ, and I said, ‘God? Please give me consumption, and take these sticky dreams away from me!’”

Enjolras snorted. “With any luck, he’ll ignore that prayer. Didn’t the illustrations I give you help in the slightest?”  
"They only made it worse!” Marius despaired. “Now instead of being plagued by the intoxicating sight of her eyes and her smile, I am tortured by…” he pulled out a page from his pocket, scanning it. “Labia majora.” He sighed exasperatedly. “What you wrote…a-about the female? I can’t stop thinking about it. I am plagued with red, Enjolras! Red. The color of desire: It won’t leave me alone, and nor will these damnable thoughts! But…upon reading your essay…I cannot help but wonder how the two…the two…”

“Genitalia?”

Marius nodded as he continued. “How everything might…might….”

“Fit?”

“I mean not that I wouldn’t want to! Not that I would ever not want to…to… " he felt his throat close around the words. "I have to go!” 

“Marius! Marius, wait!” Enjolras sighed exasperatedly. Why was he so damned excitable? He shook his head, and went back to his journal.

 

\---

 

Marius crashed through the forest path on the way home, stopping once he was almost there to catch his breath. It was all too much, too much to think about. Suddenly, he heard a rustle and he looked up to see- HER.

“Marius Pontmercy?” she asked, as if she were uncertain. He swallowed thickly. How did she know his name?! Wait. He should be saying something back. “Cosette Fauchelevent?” he asked in response, though he knew the answer. She smiled and nodded. He gaped. “Like a…like a dream fallen from the branches!” he marveled. “What...what are you doing alone out here?”

She blushed and looked down at her feet. “Papa sent me out to find mushrooms, but…it’s quickly growing too dark. I must say I have not been too successful.” She bit her lip. “And you?”

“I…erm…Well. Catching my breath. This is my favorite spot,” he explained, gesturing around the clearing. “So…uh. How was your morning?”

She looked up again and smiled. “Oh, it was wonderful. Our youth group took baskets to the orphan children! Oh, you should have seen their faces, Marius. How much we brightened their day.”

Marius looked at her incredulously. Clearly, he had been spending too much time with Enjolras, because what he said next was, “Can those small deeds really make a difference?”

“They have to!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “It seems to me that what serves us best, is what serves ALL of us best.” 

He caught himself grinning. “Cosette Fauchelevent! All these Sundays I have seen you at church, and we’ve never truly talked.”

“I suppose it’s the age we’re at,” she sighed. “When they insist on separating us into different schools. “What time is it?” she asked suddenly, looking confused.

“It must be almost four,”

“Oh! I thought it was later. I…I stopped so long to pause by the stream and dream, I hardly kept track of the time. “ she shook her head and smiled. “My papa is right to worry about me. There are times when I feel just like a child who is lost in the wood. In this case, literally.” 

He smiled. “Would you like to join me? We could sit back against this oak and stare at the clouds.”

“I have to be back before five…”

“Please, Cosette.”

“Well…” she looked around. “For a moment, maybe.”

And with that, she was sitting beside him, and he struck to the bone by breathless delight. He hardly dared to believe that she was at his side. They sat in tense silence for a long while, staring up at the sky as it darkened. At long last, she pulled herself anxiously to her knees. “The sun is setting,” she noted. “I had better go…” 

“I’ll go with you!” he grinned, picking up his jacket from where it lay on the ground. “I’ll have you on the bridge in ten minutes.” He held his hand out to her and she took it gently.


End file.
